Uncaged
by T- Virus Rose
Summary: A nursing student discovers a Hunter who's met horrific abuse at the hands of a group of survivors. She decides to set him free, but will the decision mark her death?


There was a chill wind gusting through the trees, a clear sign of the early November in the night air, echoing hollowly through the surrounding woods. The only source of illumination in the semi-cleared yard of the small, rickety house was a low fire, the flames slowly dying down as a log, eaten through by the smoldering tongues, collapsed down the middle with a dull thud. It was likely well past midnight by the pitch black closing in on the small space from all sides. Besides that, the beer was running out and it was too fucking quiet.

Four men were closed around the fire, perched on lawn chairs and one large sawed-off portion of a log where the chairs had run out. Large men for the most part, with the look of having worked for the better part of their lives. Emptied cans of beer were strewn about around their feet and they chuckled amongst themselves obliviously, the booze allowing them to forget the sorry-ass state of the rest of the world for at least the hour. Within reach by the side of each and every one of them was some sort of firearm, mostly of the sort that already would've been readily available in those parts, ranging from a sawed-off shotgun to a hunting rifle. In addition there was a BB gun carelessly tossed to the ground behind them a short distance from the wood shed.

It looked as though the weapons were going to be unnecessary, though. There wasn't a sound to be heard other than the crackling of the fire, the wind, and their own voices. Glen had checked not an hour before out of and all of the traps were empty, too. Almost a shame, really. It was going to be a boring night.

Probably going on a month ago then was when the world had gone crazy, when the infection, that 'green flu' or whatever the hell the people on the TV had called it before the power went, had hit. It hadn't been a pretty scene, even in the small towns not too far from the house in the woods. They were sleepy Appalachian tourist towns, really, not at all prepared for something like that. It was bad enough when people _changed_, like they suddenly forgot they'd ever been people and turned into rabid animals or some shit. And then sometimes, they _really_ changed.

Which was why the men weren't leaving Glen's place anytime soon. The guy was a bit of a survivalist nut but he was a whole hell of a lot better than that, thank you very much. Hell, the rest of the men would probably be happier fiddling their nutcase buddy than going back to that if he asked.

"'Ey Dennis," one of the men, the one atop the log, spoke up with an uncoordinated wave of his hand, "How many we got left?"

The Dennis he spoke to, the huskiest of the men and the one closest to the six pack, looked into the box and shook his shaved head, frowning. "Not looking pretty, my friend. Two left, and-" He reached in and picked up a can, opening it with a satisfying pop, "This one would be mine."

"Son of a bitch!"

Another man leaned back in his lawn chair and laughed out loud, crushing his own empty can on the arm of his chair. "Calm yourself, Mick. You weren't lasting much longer anyhow."

"Like fuck I wasn't!" Mick bellowed out, kicking one of the cans in the dirt directly into the fire and then grumbling, "Fuck this shit."

Somewhere far off a low rumble of thunder echoed, the horizon briefly lit by lightning hidden behind a thick layer of clouds. The storm was rolling in and would probably be on them in not too long.

From somewhere beside the shed came a soft noise, barely distinguishable over the crackling of the fire. It sounded something like the just-audible whine of a distressed animal, the faint sound of something ticking off metal. The source was hidden in darkness save for a couple of glints of firelight off of the bars of a dog cage. A hunting dog wouldn't be out of place among the men and a couple of them had indeed had dogs.

The man Mick seemed inordinately ticked off by the small noise, an angered sneer turning down his whiskered face. He picked up his emptied beer can and lobbed it vaguely in that direction. "Shut up, shut the hell up," he growled irritably.

Dennis blinked and then yawned drunkenly, turning to the still silent and somewhat smaller member of the group. "'Ey Glen, why is it you still got that thing hanging around, anyways? It's making a racket."

Glen just looked up from staring down at the can on his leg and shrugged languidly. "You know damned well we've got nothing better to do, Dennis. TV's out and who the hell knows when we're ever getting evaced out of here? Shooting whatever comes through gets boring after a while. Might as well have something to watch."

The other man's mouth turned down in a frown and he shook his head. "Well can you at least shut the damned thing up?"

"You want me to shut the fucking thing up? Fine. Hang on." Glen rose from his chair and fished briefly on his belt for a flashlight before clicking it on and tucking it into his shirt pocket. He strode casually in the direction of the shed, pausing only to pick up the BB gun along the way, and passed by it, walking around to the side between the shed and the house.

The light from the flashlight illuminated a dog cage and the huddled form within, but not much more with the indirect beam. The man switched the BB gun to one hand to point the flashlight directly at the form. Horridly pale skin with a morbidly unhealthy tinge materialized into view, marred with disfigurations and wounds of varying degrees across what appeared to be an unclothed human torso. The injuries appeared to range from bites and scratches to a good number of pockmarks from that very BB gun, burns, bruises. The smell of filth wafted from the cage and the figure didn't move, face down behind scrawny arms. It wasn't until Glen shone the light directly in the thing's face that a low hiss sounded and an eye peered out like a single dull yellow lamp.

It was one of the Hunters, Glen had heard them called on the news when the news had still been a thing, though he'd taken to calling them Jumpers. He knew that despite the thing being scraggly because, hey, they weren't wasting all of their good food on it, it could have easily sprung a good thirty feet or so to start tearing out their guts with those nasty claws and teeth. If it had a decent amount of energy left to it, and if it wasn't currently confined to the cage with hardly enough room to turn around. Not too smart though, like the rest of the infected, he supposed. Otherwise it wouldn't have wandered right into one of their bear traps, as the wound still festering on its right leg proved. By now it didn't have a whole lot of fight left to it and every one of its ribs was visible under the gaunt skin, caked with blood and filth.

"Still alive in there, are you?" he mused almost thoughtfully.

The creature snarled blankly at him, though it lacked quite a bit of the ferocity of a few weeks ago.

Something almost akin to a smirk spread over Glen's face. "Yeah. Still got some life in you." He leaned into the side of the shed, casually tapping the BB gun against his leg, and could make out the creature following his every move with that one remaining eye as he did so. He threw a glance back at his comrades and then looked down at the cage almost conspiratorially, shaking his head with a faint chuckle. "How long's it been now? A few weeks, month? Something else, you zombies. We've hardly fed you and you've been out here in the damned weather since. Most other creatures would've rolled over and died by now."

Of course, the infected didn't react. Words were lost on the damned things, as many people had found out the hard way.

"You know, those things like you have caused an awful lot of trouble," Glen continued, dropping his voice almost as though telling a secret, "Ended the world, some people are saying. Even if it's not done we are in a lot of trouble thanks to you fucking things. Damned government, I bet, screwed us real good this time." He shrugged, almost dismissively. "Either way, I have to say, I'm kind of glad that you happened to stumble along. The guys don't know why I've kept you around so long, but you know what? It feels kind of good. Kind of really fucking good, to know that you things aren't such big scary monsters after all. I can take one of those monsters-"

He raised the BB gun. The thing in the cage actually flinched as he kept his aim on it.

"And make you into a beat dog."

A strangled, dry little whine came from somewhere in the beast's throat. The man lowered the BB gun, a smirk turning up his face.

"Got you."

Eventually the Jumper in the cage sagged and Glen chose that moment to pull the gun as quickly as he could and shot it directly in the back of the neck. It gave a sharp yelp and curled up into a tight little ball to shield itself from further harm. The man just watched in amusement. This had been familiar to him, and now near-routine to the infected.

Several pants of pain came from the creature but otherwise it was silent. Good. Now the other men would stop complaining.

"Well, now that I've got you shut up," he says with a yawn, stretching his arms and legs as if to mock the cramped Jumper, "I believe I'll be turning in. Hopefully I'll be coming back to you still alive in the morning. 'Night, little son-of-a-bitch."

Glen kicked one foot into the side of the cage, causing it to rattle loudly before propping the BB gun against the side of the shed and walking to rejoin the group, leaving the thing without so much as another glance. He picked up a bucket of water next to the fire and tossed it onto the dying embers, extinguishing most of it except for a few smoldering coals.

Mick had already been passed out and stirred with a cut-off snore at the noise and a grumble of complaint was drawn from Dennis.

"Could've waited a bit longer to turn in," he complained.

Glen just shook his head, his face illuminated in the glow of his flashlight. "Can't have that burning too long if we don't want to draw anything," he explains as though he were speaking to a child- a drunken one at that, "If you want to stay out here in the dark with no cover then you're more than welcome to."

There was a bit more mumbling and uncoordinated staggering, but eventually the group followed the 'man of the house''s lead and returned to the relative safety of the house.

Soon the coals died down and the only remaining light came from the night sky and the glinting of a single yellow lamp-esque eye next to the shed. After that it wasn't long at all before the house in the woods once again fell silent, save for the breeze from an incoming storm shrieking through the trees and the sound of one long, drawn-out whimper.

* * *

Is this really what it looks like? T actually posting some writing again? I know, I'm surprised enough myself. I am still working on 'Sound of Madness', albeit slowly, but this idea came to me and I had to write it down. It is now an ongoing RP between a friend and I, and chapters after this first (or potentially second) will be largely based on events in said RP.  
This- this feels rushed. And I'm not sure on where I left off. It is just an intro chapter though. I would love any and all feedback to let me know how I did. I may change the title of both the overall fic and this chapter at a later point.  
My Hunter and the survivor group belong to me, Left 4 Dead belongs to Valve.


End file.
